How I Lost Wimbledon

for my niece, Celie

This was back when

she was just a little thing,

no taller than a racquet

or maybe just slightly.

It was the year

I had my best shot.

I don't even remember now

who I was playing,

let's say it was Borg.

Regardless, I had made

The Finals, I was in my whites

and I was focused,

supremely focused

on the goal,

like a man

is supposed to be

when he's chasing down

one of life's grand prizes.

Everyone's eyes were on

Centre Court as the battle

wore on. Everyone's eyes

except Celie's, who

had noticed that the moon

was out in the daytime

and wasn't that odd?

I think I was up a set

and a break. I was

just about

to put him away, when

she started yelling.

"Look at the moon, Alvie,

look at the moon!"

I didn't look, but

a point sailed by.

"Look at the moon, Alvie,

look at the moon!"

I glanced at it and there

went another.

"Look at the moon, Alvie,

look at the moon!"

And by then

it was all over.

I just stood there

and watched it

as the games and the sets

and, finally, the match

slipped away.

This was back when

she was just a little thing,

no taller than a racquet

or maybe just slightly,

but, she already knew

that some men are meant

to jump the net

and kiss the grass

and some men

are meant simply

to look at the moon

June 25, 2016